Truly Become Dust
by mysticknightsofscotland
Summary: What if Milah took Baelfire with her when she ran off with Hook? "Crocodile" AU with references from all three seasons.
1. Lost Boy

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon A Time. I'm just playing in their world for a bit.

**Genre:** family, hurt/comfort, tragedy

**Rating: **T, to be safe

**Pairings: **None outside canon.

**Characters: **Rumplestiltskin, Baelfire, Milah, Hook

**WARNINGS: **None, aside from the usual Rumplestiltskin heartbreak.

**SPOILERS:** All Rumple backstory, including "Think Lovely Thoughts," but references can come from anywhen, so all of Season 3 would be helpful. Absolutely serious here. If you have not seen THINK LOVELY THOUGHTS, please do NOT read this story until you do. It's not critical to this story, but I truly do not want to spoil that episode. Go watch it. Now. I'll be here when you get back.

**Self-Prompt: **What if Milah took Baelfire with her when she ran off with Hook?

**A/N: Re-watching the flashbacks from Season 2's "The Crocodile" could be helpful, but not necessary if you know the story. This picks up at the end of Rumple's first confrontation with Killian (pre-Hook) on the ship.**

**A/N: Also, my posting frequency depends on my access to a proper computer with internet connection. Rest assured that I am several chapters ahead, and will not abandon this story.**

**Truly Become Dust**

**Chapter 1**

**Lost Boy**

"Please, sir. What am I going to tell my boy?"

"Try the truth. His father's a coward."

The pirate captain turned his back on the poor spinner, leaving his crew to escort the man off his ship. Rumplestiltskin flinched as hands grabbed at him, firm yet considerate of his unsteady balance, to guide him back to the dock. Once they had him on the loading ramp, though, one of the men gave him a little shove as they let go, sending Rumplestiltskin stumbling down until his walking stick caught and bad ankle gave, and he fell hard on the dock.

Behind him, pirates laughed, and the captain barked out the orders to set sail. Nobody helped Rumplestiltskin to his feet this time, so he just sat where he had fallen, rough splinters digging into his palms as he watched life steal his wife away from him. Like it stole his father long ago.

He didn't move until the ship cleared the harbor and disappeared behind the harbor master's watchtower. He could have sat there forever staring at the fading ship if a young boy, just a few years older than his Baelfire, hadn't stopped to pick up his walking stick.

"Here, mister. This should help you up."

Rumplestiltskin jolted and turned to see the lad holding the staff upright with the end planted within easy reach of Rumplestiltskin's hand.

"Thank you," he said, but swallowed any other words he could have said as he pulled himself to his feet. He felt sick. Lost. He patted the boy on the shoulder and nodded for him to run along. The boy smiled and waved as he turned to catch up with his friends.

Rumplestiltskin turned to check the progress of the pirate ship, but it was gone.

_What am I going to tell my boy?_

Bae. He had to get home to his son. Everything else could wait. But how could he tell his son that his mother wasn't coming back? How could he tell him that he had failed to keep their little family together. _Hi, son. Some pirates came and took your mama off to entertain a ship full of rowdy men._ No. Questions would be asked. Maybe not by Bae. Maybe not even to his face. But there would be whispers if he let that be the story. Whispers that he should have fought for her. And maybe he should have, but what good would that have done Bae if Rumplestiltskin had died trying to get Milah back? There was no question in his mind that the moment he picked up that sword, the pirate would have run him through. Even if that man's supposed code of honor permitted Rumplestiltskin a moment to take a stance, even to strike first, what chance did he have as a cripple who had never seen real battle? The end result would have been the same. Rumplestiltskin bleeding out across the deck of the Jolly Roger and Milah held captive below.

_Your actions on the battlefield tomorrow will leave him fatherless._

Never. He cheated fate that day, and would continue to do whatever was necessary to protect Bae from growing up without a father like he did.

That brought back memories he'd rather not dwell on, so Rumplestiltskin limped into the baker's shop on the way home and bought a meat pie with the few coppers he had left in his coin purse. He would heat it over the fire when he got home and give it to Bae. Maybe the comforting food would cheer the boy up as it had Rumple growing up with the spinner sisters. He decided he would say that Milah was dead. He would carry the guilt of the lie for years, but in the end, it would be less painful than allowing the village to know that Bae's father was twice a coward.

His ankle was hurting by the time he turned onto the lane leading past their little home. His neighbors largely ignored him as he limped by. Elena looked up from her laundry to give him a puzzled frown, but he pressed his lips together and shook his head to keep her from asking why Milah wasn't with him. The empty nausea was back. The dread of having to go inside and tell his precious son that his mother was dead.

Leaning heavily on his walking stick, Rumplestiltskin pushed open the door with the hand holding the small meat pie sack. The fire had died down, and the fading light made it difficult to see.

"Bae? I'm home. Where are you son?" He limped in and set the meat pie on the table, searching the shadows until his eyes adjusted. Then the panic set in. "Bae?"

The pain in his ankle was forgotten as he spun, taking in the empty room, the silence, the cloaks missing from the cloak hook by the door.

_No. No, no, no, no, no._

His eyesight blurred, and he made no attempt to stop the tears. "Bae..." His ankle finally gave as he slid down to his knees, still clinging to the walking stick as if it were the only lifeline keeping him from drowning.

The pain in his ankle. The pain in his heart. Milah. Bae. How had he not seen it? The pirate took Milah. Milah took Bae. Milah who always wanted to leave, start over, see the world.

_Milah._

Before he really knew what he was doing, his grip slid down the staff, and a strangled cry escaped him as he swung the staff, hard. The sketch of a palm tree studded beach that Milah had completed a month earlier was ripped from the wall and battered into the dust of the floor. Again and again he struck, until the strength left his arms and the walking stick clattered to the ground.

He wept in silence then, curled on the floor, massaging his eternally aching ankle, though whether to soothe the ache or to feel something other than emptiness, he could not say.


	2. The Meat Pie

**A/N: Rumple isn't in the right frame of mind to tell you right now, so I will. Elena is my version of the woman who came to tell him that the pirates had taken Milah before this story started. She isn't named in the show, or explained. Elena was friends with Milah and Rumple before the war, and is one of those war widows Milah envies. This is also likely to be my shortest chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**The Meat Pie**

Either he fell asleep, or was just so lost to the world he was oblivious to the sound of someone moving about his home, but the rich smell of hot meat pie brought him out of the abyss into which he had fallen.

Elena sat by the fire, tending it as she warmed the meat pie Rumplestiltskin had bought for Bae in the cooking pot.

"Bae..." he moaned. _It was meant for Bae._

Elena looked up and sighed. "I'm sorry," she said, coming over and helping him off the floor and onto a chair. "I know it must be a shock. Here, drink some tea. When you're ready, we can talk."

She pressed a cup into his hands and held it there a moment until she was sure he wouldn't spill it. The warmth seeped through to his hands, but he didn't drink.

"You knew?" he managed. "How?"

"I didn't. Not really. Not until I saw you returning just now." Elena placed the steaming meat pie on the table next to Rumplestiltskin. She wiped her hands on the shawl around her neck and sat down, twisting the ends of the fabric. "I'm sorry. I should have realized sooner. I should have warned you. I should have stopped her."

Rumplestiltskin looked down at the cup of tea in his hands. "So it was Milah."

"She came back to get Baelfire. She said they were going to take a ride around the harbor before the ship left. That what I had seen earlier had been nothing more than a friendly business transaction to secure the boy a bit of adventure while the opportunity was there. I assumed she had crossed paths with you, explained the situation, and came back to get your son while you continued down to the docks."

Rumplestiltskin took a sip of the cooling tea, wishing for something stronger, but at least the nausea was gone.

"How long?" he asked.

"Not long," she said. "You could have passed them on the road, though I suppose Milah would have avoided taking the same path."

"So she's finally found the family she could never have with me," he said, picking at the meat pie. He loved the smell, and couldn't imagine letting it go to waste even though he wasn't hungry.

"I'm so sorry, Rumplestiltskin."

"Leave. Please."

Elena stiffened. He knew his tone had been too harsh, but he didn't care. The meat pie tasted of misery and loneliness. He wanted to weep for his one remaining childhood comfort, now forever ruined for him. He closed his eyes and refused to look up even as he heard the closest person he's had to a friend these past four years rise to her feet and make her way to the door.

The footsteps paused a moment, clothing rustled, a scrape of wood, and the footsteps came back. The familiar thunk of his walking stick as Elena propped it against the table surprised him, and he looked up despite himself.

"Milah always believed in you before the war," she said. "Even after you came back a deserter and a coward, she believed that you could escape all this and start over. The only thing stopping you is yourself. If what Milah told me that first night is true, that you did it because a seer told you Baelfire would be left fatherless, then I know you can do it again. Take whatever time you need right now. But when you've thought it through, you'll realize I'm right. You don't have to be a coward. You can get your son back. And Milah, if you still want her. Just don't sit here letting your sacrifices be in vain. Don't let the prophecy win after all this time."

Tears were flowing freely down his face by the time she finished what, on some level, felt like a scolding. He wanted to say something. He should say something. But the words wouldn't form. And then she was gone, leaving him fingering the notches on his walking stick measuring the yearly growth of a four-year-old boy.


	3. Portal Dreams

**Chapter 3**

**Portal Dreams**

He sat there at the table longer than he should have. He managed to eat the rest of the meat pie before it had gone completely cold, though he enjoyed none of it. The fire burned low by the time he dragged himself to Baelfire's bed to sleep. He didn't dare touch the one he'd shared with Milah.

In his dreams, magic beans and glowing green portals haunted him. Sometimes he relived the moment when, as a boy, he convinced his father that they could go somewhere no one knew them and start over, and his father had taken him through the portal to Neverland. This dream was always closely followed by the Neverland shadow pulling him away, his father saying things no boy who loved his papa should ever hear. Then he would let go of Rumple's hand and turn into a teenaged boy as the shadow pulled Rumple higher and higher, intending to take him away from Neverland and back to the village he had grown up in.

At other times, the dreams would shift, and it would be Rumplestiltskin and Bae on the edge of a portal. These were harder to discern. Sometimes Bae was four, sometimes fourteen. Sometimes they jumped through together, like Rumple and his father had. But then there were the ones in which Bae was sucked into the portal, by accident or intention, and Rumplestiltskin was left clinging to Bae with one hand and to a dagger buried in the ground with the other.

There was always a sense of a destiny-deciding decision in these dreams. Does he cling to Bae and pull him back to safety? Does he let go of the dagger and follow Bae through, praying that wherever they end up, it won't turn out like Neverland? Or, gods forbid, does he let go of Bae and let his boy fall through alone? Rumplestiltskin wakes weeping whenever this happens.

And so the days turn to weeks. He spends most of his time at the spinning wheel, only leaving the house when it becomes necessary to go into town for food and supplies, and to sell what he has spun. The neighbors ignore him as usual, but Elena takes pity on him and comes to visit from time to time. She rarely stays long, and never mentions Milah or Baelfire to him unless he does first. Even then, they speak only of happier times.

But Rumplestiltskin remembers her words from that first night alone.

_You can get your son back. The only thing stopping you is yourself. Don't let the prophecy win._

The problem was the prophecy had won. His son was fatherless. And he was dust. Too cowardly to fight back against the fate that he had brought upon himself. Too weak to continue on much longer without his reason for living.

Life seemed to enjoy ripping his loved ones away and leaving him with nothing but the knowledge that he was little more than an unloved, lonely, lost boy. He could barely remember his mother. His father let the shadow of Neverland take Rumple away so he could make-believe he was a boy again. The spinner sisters who raised him were kind enough, but their pitying looks never let him think of them as family. And now Milah, whom he had loved with every hope that he'd had until the seer told him he was to have a son.

Desperate to live, desperate to give his son the life Rumplestiltskin had been denied, he had found a way home, only to watch the love in Milah's eyes disappear. She had walked out on him that night, but she returned. Their shared love for their son kept them together for a few years, and frankly Rumplestiltskin was amazed each night that she returned to their home. That she had finally left him was no longer a shock, but taking Bae with her was like a dagger to his tattered self-worth. Did Bae even miss his papa? How long would it take before the boy forgot Rumplestiltskin entirely and started calling the pirate captain father?

_A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets._

But what had fighting gotten him? Everything he'd done had been for his son, since before Baelfire was born. What did they want from him? To fight for the Duke, his village, his home, his wife, and die beneath the club of an ogre, making little to no difference in the war and never getting to see his then unborn son? To fight for Milah and by some miracle slay or otherwise subdue the pirate captain? Would she love him any more then, if the crew even let him escape alive? Or the alternative, if he had fought and died for Milah, what would he get then? He'd fought for his father too, in his way, but all he'd gotten was a deep, justified fear of abandonment.

No. The only thing worth fighting for was Bae. And he would never stop fighting for him. He would do nothing else. He would love nothing else. He would find a way. Milah took his son, but Rumplestiltskin would get him back.

He would find him.


	4. On The Road

**Chapter 4**

**On The Road**

He made his decision two months after Milah had left. He woke trembling, haunted by the dream of Bae falling through the portal without him. This time though, he dried his tears and made his vow while the moon was still in the night sky.

He vowed vengeance. He vowed determination and sleepless nights. He vowed complete dedication to his task. He vowed to pay any price. But most of all, he vowed to hold his son in his arms once more and never let go.

It was still dark when he left, taking only his walking stick and a small sack. The sack was plenty big enough for what little he had: a few scraps of food, a charcoal portrait of Bae done by Milah, and whatever trinket or two he thought he could sell later on. Elena would have gladly given him better provisions, but if he woke her at this hour, she would make him wait till dawn. Waiting meant death to Rumplestiltskin. He would never leave if he let this moment of clarity fade. So he limped out of his village as fast as he could, taking a trail through the forest he knew would wrap around and ultimately lead him further up the coast. There, he would find sailors to begin inquiring about the destination of the Jolly Roger without the scorn of the townsfolk delaying his progress. A crippled beggar earned more assistance than the village coward, so a beggar he would be.

He came within sight of the town by dawn. He hesitated, then pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head. It would be better if he wasn't recognized. He didn't expect to see anyone he knew, but he didn't want to take the risk that the coward spinner of the Frontlands was as eagerly gossiped about in Seatown as he was in his little village on the outskirts of Safe Harbor.

Seatown was twice the size of Safe Harbor, and four times as prosperous due to the access it provided to ships looking to sail further inland up the Lords River. The last bit of the trail Rumplestiltskin followed would merge with the River Road just before it entered the East Gate, but his ankle was throbbing after hours of walking, and exhaustion threatened to topple him before he reached the gate. Instead, Rumplestiltskin stepped off the trail and found a likely spot to rest on the far side of a sprawling bush with large, flat leaves. He curled up under his cloak, hugging the sack with his pitiful belongings to him, his walking stick laid out within easy reach. It wasn't a comfortable bed, but he had endured much worse on his way home from the front when his shattered ankle had barely begun to heal.

In his exhaustion, he slept without dreams. When he woke, the sun had shifted, and he lay there a moment remembering where he was and why he wasn't at home. He rolled onto his knees. His ankle wasn't hurting as much now, but the rest of him felt stiff from sleeping on the ground. He readjusted his cloak so the hood obscured his face again and was about to stand when he heard a cart coming along the road. He ducked down and tried to see through the shrubbery. From this angle, he'd be lucky to catch a glimpse of feet, wheels, and hooves as they passed.

The sound was coming from the direction of Rumplestiltskin's village, and as they drew nearer, he could hear two men talking. The price of sheep or the weather, no doubt. It wasn't until they were almost level with him that he could make out part of their conversation over the horse's hooves and the creak of the wooden cart.

"Did ye hear? The coward's disappeared."

"Spindleshanks? How can anyone tell? He's been hiding away in that hovel of his since Milah found the sense to leave him."

"Ye can tell because Elena checks up on him time to time, aye? I seen her just this morn. Knocks on the door, no response. Goes on in, and comes out not fifteen shakes later. Still carrying a loaf of sweetbread, mind. Then the lass goes and locks the house up proper."

"Why would she go and do a thing like that?"

"I'm telling ye, he wasn't there."

"Maybe old Hobblefoot's offed himself. It'd be about time."

Their laughter was the last thing Rumplestiltskin could hear of their conversation as they passed on towards Seatown.

So gossip had already started to spread. He really should have told Elena he was leaving. He hadn't realized he forgot to lock the door, but at the same time, he didn't know when he would return. If he ever came back at all.


	5. The Barmaid

**Chapter 5**

**The Barmaid**

He took the River Road straight to the docks, then found the closest tavern and settled down outside a few steps from the door and next to an open window. He wrapped his cloak around him and allowed the hood to hide his face. It was getting dark, and he poked at the patch of dirt in front of him, idly trying to dig a hole with the end of his walking stick while listening to the chatter inside. Most of it was meaningless murmurs, and the little he could make out was of no use in his search. But he waited. He waited all night until the last patron staggered out, then begged the barmaid who came to lock up for a scrap of bread.

She looked inclined to dismiss him at first, but Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not good at earning pity. His hood had fallen back as he scrambled to his feet, and he was leaning heavily on his staff. The girl only needed one look at his disheveled mop of graying brown hair and mournful eyes before she told him to slip around to the stables and she'd bring him something edible so long as he didn't tell anyone or startle the horses. She disappeared before he could finish stuttering his sincere thanks.

The stables were warm but drafty. There were three horses, with space for several more. Rumplestiltskin looked around and decided he could sleep in the stall at the end, the one with the smallest pile of straw, without too much risk of being found. It looked like it hadn't been used in some time. He limped back towards the entrance and was petting one of the horses when the barmaid reappeared.

"That one seems to like ye," she said. She set down the basket she was carrying. On top were two loaves and a bread bowl filled with stew. "Have ye much experience with horses?"

"No," he said, not wanting to bring up the war. "But I've known a workhorse or two." He gave the horse a final pat, then limped over to the basket.

The barmaid handed him the stew, then lifted something out of the bottom of the basket, the two loaves still sitting on top.

"I've brought ye a blanket. It ain't much, I meant to scrap it, but ye might as well have it." She sat the blanket and loaves on the ground and picked up the empty basket. She stood there a moment watching him eat. "You're new poor, aren't ye?"

Rumplestiltskin looked up. "No," he said. "New homeless, perhaps, but I've always been poor." The pity in her stare made him retreat into his stew again.

"I'd point ye in the direction of the docks if I thought ye could find work with yer bum leg," she said. "As it is..."

"Please," he said, looking up again. "If you know where I can find the Jolly Roger, might be I still have one friend in the world."

"The pirate ship?" She tilted her head, studying him. "Can't see what business ye'd have with that lot. They come here time to time, aye. Haven't seen them in a couple months though, and no telling where they went or when they might see fit to return."

Rumplestiltskin stilled. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but his eyes begged her to unsay those words. A part of him had expected this, but the other part, the part that had dared to hope, wanted so desperately for it not to be true.

"I'm sorry," the barmaid said. "Sleep here tonight. Keep the blanket and the food, but don't get caught or I'll have to deny I had anything to do with ye."

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Thank you. It's more than I deserve."

She gave him a half-smile. "Oh, I think ye deserve a whole lot more than I can give, and I hope ye find it. I truly do." With that, she turned and was gone.

When he'd finished the stew, Rumplestiltskin wrapped the loaves in the blanket so he could carry them back to his chosen stall one-handed. He laid down on the straw, wrapped in his cloak and covered by the thin, tattered blanket, but sleep would not come easily.

The Jolly Roger hadn't been seen here since Milah had taken Bae. Two months. What hope did he have of finding them now? He was a fool to have ever left his village. The longer he stayed away, the farther the rumors would spread. The cowardly spinner who hobbled into the woods and killed himself. If he continued his search, there was no telling how long the villagers would wait before selling his house or tearing it apart for anything useful, like firewood.

If he didn't go back now, he might not have a home to go back to once he found Bae.

But if he went back now, he might never find Bae.


	6. Hope On The Docks

**Chapter 6**

**Hope On The Docks**

Rumplestiltskin was up with the dawn and out of the stables before anyone came for the horses. He limped down the docks, trying to decide what to do. He had hoped to wait in Seatown until the Jolly Roger came back, but without an expected date of return, how long would he be waiting for a ship that might never come?

The docks were slowly coming to life with people going about their business. A group of young boys chasing a ball darted out onto the docks a little ways ahead of Rumplestiltskin. The littlest one could not have been more than four or five, and his shaggy brown hair made Rumplestiltskin stop cold.

"Bae?" he whispered. But no, the boy turned, following the ball with his eyes, letting the cloaked spinner catch a glimpse of his face. It wasn't Baelfire. It wasn't his son.

He trembled, his eyes filling with tears. He couldn't do this. Couldn't continue seeing Bae in every little boy who crossed his path, only to have his hope crushed when it invariably wasn't him.

A small weight crashed into his leg, nearly knocking him off-balance. A child no taller than his thigh clung to him, staring up at him with shining blue eyes, her long red hair sending chills down his spine. Was he doomed to always be haunted by his past? Despite the lack of hideous scars and misplaced eyes, he couldn't help remembering the seer who had predicted that all this would occur, albeit without going into enough detail for him to avoid it.

_You must tell me how I can stop that happening._

_You can't. There is no escaping it._

"You will find him, Rumplestiltskin," the little girl hugging his leg said.

"What?" He stared down at her and she calmly stared back.

"You will be reunited with your son." She stared at him a moment longer, then darted off.

"Wait. No, no, no, no. Come back!" But she was already gone, disappearing into the crowd that was daily life at the docks. Vanished as surely as the seer in the cage had done four years ago.

He knew better now than to dismiss a seer's words. But this time he didn't want to. The girl's words gave him hope, despite their lack of helpful direction. He was beginning to believe in fate, for if a seer's predictions always came true, then whatever path he took, whatever choices he made, he would still end up finding his son. It was just a matter of time. Time that could be lengthened or shortened by his choices.

Which still left him with the question of what to do now to make that length of time shorter.

There was no telling where they had gone or how long they could go between ports, so if he went chasing along the coast, they might never meet. Milah, he felt certain, would never return to their village after tasting freedom, but Baelfire might. Only after he was a grown man though, and only if he remembered his home or his papa. He couldn't go forward, and he couldn't go back. Eventually the Jolly Roger would find its way back to Seatown, but only if he could manage to avoid being recognized. A single rumor of his whereabouts getting back to Milah would guarantee he'd never see his son while Bae might still remember him.

There was nothing for it, then. He sold the trinkets he had brought and padded his coin purse with cloth so the coins wouldn't rattle. He wished he had a spinning wheel to pass the time, but that would get him recognized faster than his face. Instead, he walked the docks all day, looking and listening for signs of the Jolly Roger, Milah, or Bae. He was getting used to the hood of his cloak obscuring his peripheral vision. It made it easier to pretend he wasn't eavesdropping on conversations. And other than the little seer child that morning, no one had approached him. A limping beggar was easy to ignore.

When he was hungry, he sat and nibbled on one of the two loaves of bread the barmaid had given him the night before. He ate only enough to take the edge off, aware of how scarce food would become. Not everyone would be as generous as the barmaid, especially once he started looking like an unwashed beggar. He had his coins in case of an emergency, but whatever food he was given, he was going to make last as long as possible.

He continued walking, and by the time night fell, his ankle was throbbing. He limped to the nearest tavern, a different one this time, and settled down outside to listen and beg.

It was a pattern he would follow for quite some time.

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**A/N: I have a feeling everyone is going to enjoy the next three chapters... Hang in there, though. There might be a bit of delay in posting.**


	7. Birthday Surprise

**A/N: Sorry if anyone ends up getting this chapter alert twice. All I changed was "name day" to "birthday". Finally got my hands on the DVD to rewatch Desperate Souls. They use "birthday", so it was going to bug me if I didn't fix it. Also, expect once-a-week updates.**

**Chapter 7**

**Birthday Surprise**

Baelfire's seventh birthday earned him a wooden sword from Killian and coin from Mama to buy a treat or two while in port. From the two of them, he earned permission to go about on his own, though he was sure they or someone from the crew would be watching him. That was fine, though. He had his wooden sword and more freedom than he could remember having.

He could barely remember a time before he and Mama became pirates. He knew he had a papa who had taught Mama to make clothes, and that was why he couldn't call Killian Papa like they wanted him to. When he met Killian, he had still remembered his real Papa, and now he just couldn't see why he should call the captain by a name that didn't belong to him.

They had a great life, sailing around to wherever they felt like. Sometimes he and Mama would come ashore for a few days and explore whatever town they were in while Killian and his ship did piraty things. Killian promised that Baelfire would get to come with them when he was older, but for now he had to stay with Mama. And practice with his wooden sword.

As soon as the Jolly Roger was docked, Baelfire raced down the plank and into Seatown. He hardly knew where to start exploring. He peeked through shop windows and saw a baker kneading dough, a carpenter building a table, and a glassblower shaping some kind of elegant decoration. He was entranced by a woman working a spinning wheel, turning wool into fine thread. Something about the wheel was hypnotic. He could almost hear the soft creaking of the wood.

"Bae," a voice behind him said.

Baelfire turned. A man with a staff and a tattered cloak stood there, watching him. The hood of his cloak hid part of his face, but Baelfire could see a gray and brown beard and hopeful dark eyes.

"Are you a wizard?"

The old man blinked and took a half step back, his eyes growing impossibly sad.

"No."

Baelfire looked at him curiously. "Then how do you know my name?"

The man's mouth tightened, and he suddenly seemed to find it difficult to look at Baelfire. His eyes cast around as if seeking an answer. Then he stepped forward, limping into the shade of the shopfront, using the staff for support, and lowered his hood.

His shoulder length hair was messy, but brown with only a hint of gray at the sides. He bent down to look Baelfire in the eye, leaning on the staff.

"I know your name," he said, his voice low and soft with a hint of playfulness, "because I have been waiting for you."

Baelfire backed away a step.

The man straightened, twisting his grip on the staff. "What do you know of your father?"

Baelfire shrugged. "That he could make clothes." He looked back into the shop and was momentarily entranced again. "And he probably owned a spinning wheel." The stranger was watching closely. "People say he killed himself three years ago. Something about not being able to live after letting Mama and me go." The stranger dropped his gaze and twisted the staff again. "Mama doesn't believe them."

The man's head snapped back up. "Why not?"

"She says Papa was a coward. Hurt himself in the war so he wouldn't have to fight, and refused to fight to get Mama back. He never even came looking for me. He loved his own life too much and us too little to die like that."

"Oh, Bae..." The stranger's expression was confusing. It looked almost like he was going to cry.

"Why do you keep calling me that? Only my father called me by that name. Were you a friend of his?"

The man shook his head. "No. Your papa never did have many friends." A hand came up, fingers splayed in front of his chest, trembling. "I am your papa, Bae."

Baelfire studied him.

"I hobbled myself to come home to you. So you wouldn't have to grow up without a father. But then your mama took you away from me." He really was going to cry. "Here," he said, showing Baelfire the bottom half of the staff. "These markings. That's you growing up. This last one here, that was you at four, the day before you went away." The man looked at him, but Baelfire said nothing. "I came here to find you, Bae. How could a cripple like me chase after the Jolly Roger? I've been waiting for three years. What more proof do you need, son?"

If this was his father, Baelfire didn't know him. Sure, the beard would not have been there before, but he doubted asking the man to shave it would help. He doubted any physical proof would help. He could ask for names: his father's, his mother's, maybe even Killian's, but that wouldn't prove much either.

"Please, Bae." The man's voice was desperate, his brown eyes bordering on fearful. Then he seemed to remember something and started digging for something hidden in his tunic. "Wait," he said. "Here." He pulled an old piece of parchment out and unfolded it. "Your mother drew this not long before she left me and took you with her."

It was a charcoal drawing, worn at the seams where he had folded it. The lines were smudged and fading in spots, but it did look like the other drawings Mama had made of Baelfire. He was running out of reasons not to believe that this was his father.

"What day is today?" he asked.

The man smiled. "Your birthday, of course."

So it was true. But that meant everything Mama had taught him was a lie. Baelfire backed away, unable to stop the tears that sprang to his eyes. His father's smile faded, replaced by fear.

"No, no, no, Bae, please. Don't run. Here, come sit with me. I'll answer any questions you might have." He started to lower himself to the ground, despite the pain it caused him. "Baelfire, please." He reached a hand towards him.

"Are you going to steal me away from Mama?" Baelfire asked.

"No, of course not, Bae. I want you with me more than anything, but I could never do what she did to me." The hand beckoned. "Come."

Baelfire inched forward, watching his father's face. The fear relaxed into concern, then relief. When Baelfire knelt down next to him, his papa's arms came around him in a hug. He could feel him trembling.

"Oh, Bae," his papa whispered. "My beautiful boy." He was crying. Baelfire could hear it in his voice, and it made him cry too as he hugged his papa back.


	8. Bae's Meat Pie

**Chapter 8**

**Bae's Meat Pie**

When Papa finished crying, they sat and talked for a while. Baelfire told him all about living on a pirate ship, and got to hear Papa's story in return. He hesitated about telling Baelfire certain things, but he was open about his reasons behind everything Mama said made him a coward.

"I did it all for you, Bae," he said, hugging Baelfire to his side and stroking his hair. "So you wouldn't have to suffer the same fate I suffered, growing up without a father."

But Mama had made that happen anyway, even though she wanted Killian to take Papa's place.

"I can't make up for the lost time," Papa continued. "But we can make new memories, make good use of the time that we have."

Baelfire fingered the coins Mama had given him, thinking. "What was your favorite treat when you were little?" he asked, looking up.

"Meat pie." The answer came quickly, but without the happy tone Baelfire had expected. Maybe it had been a really long time since Papa had eaten one.

"Would you like to try one?" he asked, holding up the coins in his palm.

Papa stared at the coins. There was a look in his eyes that Baelfire couldn't read. Then the sadness came back, but Papa turned to him with a smile. "I would like that."

Baelfire jumped up and darted off to find a meat pie so fast, he almost missed the startled noise Papa made. But then he caught sight of the baker's sign.

It wasn't hard for him to duck between the sea of adults to reach his destination, but once there, he had to wait for the baker to notice him after he finished helping some other people. By the time he got back to where he had left Papa, he was afraid he might have disappeared. But then he recognized Papa's staff in the hands of a beggar slumped outside the spinner's storefront, his face hidden by his hood.

That made Baelfire pause. Papa was a beggar. His cloak was worn, patched with bits of cloth that might once have been a blanket. Everything about him was worn. All because he had left home to find Bae.

He approached slowly, inching forward quietly, holding the meat pie in front of him like an offering. Papa never moved, and Baelfire wondered if he might be asleep. He knelt in front of him and looked under the hood.

Papa's eyes jumped to his. They glistened with fresh tears, and Baelfire was afraid. Then Papa slowly raised a hand to touch Bae's face.

"Papa?"

He didn't move for a moment. Then he blinked away the tears and seemed to breathe again.

"Bae."

Something was wrong, but Baelfire couldn't tell what. "I brought you that meat pie you wanted," he said, holding up the pastry.

Papa's smile looked forced. "You eat it, son. It's your birthday." He leaned back against the shopfront, tilting his head back but keeping and eye on Bae. His hand fell from Bae's face to rest in his lap.

Uncertain, Baelfire shifted to sit next to his father, snuggling into his side so Papa would feel that he was still there. He took a couple bites of the meat pie.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Cuz this is delicious." And it was. Warm and soft and flakey and meaty and delicious.

"I'm sure," Papa said.

Now Baelfire knew something had to be wrong. Nobody could say no to their favorite food twice when it was right in front of them being offered. Unless he really wasn't hungry, which Baelfire doubted. If that was the case, who could say no to just a bite?

He took a few more bites, thinking.

"After this, can you make me something?" he asked. "Something I can take with me like that drawing?"

"Your mama is the artist, not me. You know that. And I don't have anything to spin or weave or sew with."

"I'll think of something," said Baelfire. He still had most of the meat pie untouched. He held it up in front of Papa. "Can you finish it? I'm full."

Papa stirred, looked down, and finally accepted the meat pie in his hands. "If you're sure," he said.

"I'm sure," said Baelfire, happy the trick worked. He wasn't full, but he wasn't hungry either, and it was funny to watch Papa be afraid of eating a meat pie. It didn't make any sense. It wasn't vegetables or fish guts.

Once Papa took a bite though, the fear faded and relaxed into a genuine smile. Papa put an arm around Bae, holding the meat pie in his other hand. Baelfire hugged him back, and they sat like that while Papa ate.

* * *

**A/N: I thought I should post one more happy chapter before the Season 4 premiere on Sunday. Who's excited? I sure am. Also, invisible chocolate chip cookies for anyone who knows what was wrong with Rumple when Bae came back with the meat pie.**


	9. Birthday Gift

**Chapter 9**

**Birthday Gift**

By the time Papa finished eating the meat pie, Baelfire had thought of what he wanted.

"Look what I got for my birthday," he said, holding up his wooden sword.

"Very nice," said Papa. "Have you given it a name yet? All great weapons should have a name."

"Not yet. But I want to name it after you, Papa."

Papa was silent. Then he grinned. "Never heard of a blade named Papa before," he teased.

"Your real name, silly. I want you to carve it on the blade, and a little spinning wheel on the handle."

Papa smiled. "Aye. I can do that. But I've never heard of a blade named Silly either."

"Papa!"

Papa laughed.

"All right, hand it over," he said.

Baelfire handed him the wooden sword, and Papa pulled out a little knife and began to work. He focused on the spinning wheel first, carving a tiny circle just below the crossbar. Then came the spokes, the spindle, and the rest that Baelfire had no name for. When he finished, it looked just like the one inside the shop behind them, even though Papa never glanced up to see.

Then he turned the sword to lay across his lap and carefully marked out segments with tiny pricks from his knife.

"You must have a really long name," Baelfire said as he watched him make the marks across most of the blade.

"Indeed, I do." Papa was entirely focused on his work, now starting to carve the first letter.

"What is it?" Baelfire asked. "Mama never says it."

"It's Rumplestiltskin, dearie."

"Wow. I can't even spell that."

Papa smiled and looked over at him. "Well, then it's a good thing I can."

Baelfire smiled back, and it seemed to make Papa happy, because he didn't stop smiling as he went back to work.

Baelfire watched the letters appear in the wood one by one, his father taking great care to carve each one perfectly in fancy script instead of simple lines and curves as Bae would have done.

"Hey! Boy!"

Baelfire looked up to see one of the pirates from the Jolly Roger coming towards them. It was Dougal, one of the big scary men that did most of the heavy lifting.

"The Captain's looking for ye! Time to go."

Bae looked over at Papa. He had only carved about a third of the way along the blade. Papa himself had stilled, and seemed to shrink back, refusing to look up.

"But I'm not done," Baelfire said. He couldn't leave without his wooden sword, nor with it only half-named. And he didn't want to leave Papa like this. He wasn't ready.

"It's okay, son," Papa whispered. "I can finish it next time." He handed the wooden sword back, the inscription reading only _Rumple_. "My nickname will have to do for now."

Bae stared at it, then impulsively hugged his father. Rumplestiltskin held him tight and whispered that he loved him and would be waiting for Baelfire to return. Always.

"Pay the beggar and come along," Dougal snapped. "Captain's waiting. And yer mother too."

Papa's grip loosened, but didn't let go until Baelfire stood. It wasn't right. Papa's eyes never left him, and if he started crying, Baelfire probably would too.

He tucked his wooden sword in his belt, plain side facing out, and reached for his little coin purse. There wasn't much left, but Bae poured it all out onto his palm. It felt wrong to pay Papa. Was it paying if Bae just wanted to give it to him? Papa needed help, and if Bae couldn't stay with him or take him with him, then this was the best he could do for him.

He held the coins out to him, but Papa cupped his large hands around Bae's small one, holding him and trapping the coins in Bae's palm. Papa's smile was sad.

"Thank you, my boy," he said, then began to let go.

Before he could pull away, Bae twisted his wrist and dropped the coins into Papa's hands. His eyes widened in surprise, looking away from Bae's face for the first time. Some of the coins fell on Papa's lap, others on the ground, but Papa stared at the ones his hands managed to catch.

"You don't have to be a beggar," Baelfire said.

Papa looked up, his fingers closing around the coins.

"Come on, boy," Dougal said, coming over and laying a hand on Baelfire's back, firmly steering him away. "Time to go."

Baelfire kept looking over his shoulder as he walked, watching Papa staring back, his expression fearful and sad, until the crowd hid him from view.

* * *

**A/N: After Sunday's episode, this chapter was sad to edit. It was about time they had that scene, though. Cookies to everyone who reviewed guessing what was wrong with Rumple last chapter. All valid answers. I was specifically asking about the moment Bae runs off, then comes back to find Rumple zoned out. Bae couldn't understand, but Rumple kind of had a panic attack when he ran off. Abandonment issues and all.**


	10. Gutter Rat

**A/N: Quite possibly my favorite chapter. Enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

**Gutter Rat**

As the pirate led Bae away, Rumplestiltskin realized that he no longer had any assurances that he would see his son again. This could be the last time he saw him, and he just let him go. Three years of living in the streets, all for one brief afternoon?

No. He couldn't let Bae go. He couldn't let Milah and the pirate captain take him away again.

He hauled himself to his feet. The tall pirate had already disappeared, but Rumplestiltskin didn't need a guide to find his way to the docks. The Jolly Roger was still there, with no signs of departing just yet. Good. That meant they intended to stay the night. And he knew where he'd likely find Milah.

As he turned to seek out the nearest tavern, he caught sight of his reflection in a shop window, the setting sun striking at just the right angle. He looked a mess. It was no wonder Bae hadn't recognized him. He hardly recognized himself. He truly did look like a pitiful, ragged beggar now. And he was.

He couldn't face Milah like this. At the very least, the beard would have to go. And some new clothes would be a good idea too.

_You don't have to be a beggar._

How often had he heard those same words from Milah about being a coward? Yes, Bae was right. The time for hiding was passed. If he wanted to get his son back, he had to make a stand and show the world who Rumplestiltskin could really be.

It didn't take long for him to shave. Finding appropriate clothing was another matter. In the end, he settled for a tunic snatched off a laundry line and a cloak off a sleeping drunkard's back. He left his own tattered and patched cloak as payment. He also managed to comb the tangles out of his shoulder-length hair. With clean face and new clothes, he was ready to face his demons by the time full dark had fallen.

It took him three tries to find the right tavern, and by that time he was nearly ready to give up. Seeing Milah sitting at a table with Jones grounded him though. She was happy with her new life, laughing, drinking, and playing dice, oblivious to her supposedly dead husband standing in the doorway. Oblivious to the pain she'd caused him.

He worked his way over to their table unnoticed. In all the crowd, he was invisible even when he was standing right next to them.

"It's time to go, _Milah_."

The venom in his voice surprised him as much as his presence did her. She looked at him over the rim of the cup she had raised to her lips, only her eyes having moved. She put the cup down slowly, still not daring to look at him fully.

The pirate looked from Milah to Rumplestiltskin. "Well now. What rock have you been hiding under, coward?"

Rumplestiltskin glared at him. "Shut up," he snarled. "I'm not here for you."

"Whoa. Looks like the gutter rat's grown teeth."

Some of the men at the table laughed. Milah didn't.

"I'm not going anywhere, Rumple," she said.

"I don't want you anymore, dearie. I want my son."

"What makes you think the boy wants a coward for a father?" Jones asked.

Rumplestiltskin's grip tightened on his staff. "Oh. So you asked him what he wanted before you stole him from me? And I suppose he calls you Papa now, doesn't he?"

Jones glared but didn't respond.

"Thought not."

Milah stood, and Jones reached across the table to stop her. "No, Killian," she said, shaking him off. "I'm not having this conversation in here."

She walked past Rumplestiltskin and out a side door into an alley. He followed, ignoring the glare Jones was giving him.

"How could you take Bae?" he asked. "After everything you knew about me."

"Killian and I fell in love, Rumple. I just didn't know how to tell you. I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't enough. Why Bae?"

"Because he's my son. He deserves a better father than you'll ever be."

Rumplestiltskin stared. She couldn't mean that. She knew. She had to know. Everything he'd ever done was for Bae.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. "She's right, you know," Jones said breathing rum in Rumplestiltskin's face. "The boy's a born pirate if there ever was one."

Rumplestiltskin shook off the captain's grip and swept his staff around to whack the pirate's leg. Jones yelped in pain, and Rumplestiltskin instinctively backed away.

"What the hell was that for?" Jones snapped, rubbing his leg.

"You know nothing about my son," Rumplestiltskin said.

The captain straightened. "Oh. Don't I?" He stalked closer, forcing Rumplestiltskin to back away. "Tell me, where have you been the past three years? Seems to me Baelfire is quite happy without you."

Rumplestiltskin shifted to strike again with his staff, this time a little higher than the pirate's legs, but Jones caught the staff with his hand and ripped it out of his grip. It clattered on the alley stones where it landed, far out of reach.

"What else have you got, coward?" Jones sneered. "Or did you really think you could beat me with a stick?"

"Killian..." Milah called. "Let's go. He's harmless."

The pirate glared at Rumplestiltskin, daring him to make a move. So he did.

"That's a nice sword you got Bae for his birthday. Plain wood. Couldn't afford a bit of decoration?"

The captain's eyes widened, then narrowed as he shoved Rumplestiltskin to the ground. The cobblestones were damp and cold.

"You stay away from him," the pirate growled.

"He's my son," Rumplestiltskin said, sitting up.

"Not anymore."

The pirate stomped on Rumplestiltskin's bad ankle. Rumplestiltskin screamed. Then Jones started kicking him until he curled into a ball of pain, arms covering his face and knees drawn up to protect his chest.

"Killian, stop. We need to go." Milah sounded concerned, but Rumplestiltskin knew her concern wasn't for him. "We need to get back to Baelfire."

Jones halted his attack, then rested his boot over Rumplestiltskin's bad ankle again.

"No," Rumplestiltskin whimpered, looking up. He reached a hand out, as if it would do any good. His hand was trembling. "No, no, please, don't."

The pressure slowly increased as the captain leaned over him. "I never want to see you again," he hissed.

Rumplestiltskin shrank back and nodded. The pressure eased, but before he could take a breath, the boot came down again with force. He could feel the bones crunching against the stones. By the time he stopped screaming, they were gone.


	11. Lonesome Loser

**Chapter 11**

**Lonesome Loser**

The crew came back early, Baelfire thought. He lay in his bunk, tracing the carvings on his wooden sword with his finger. His father's name. The creaking of the deck above him and the distant murmur of voices continued. Maybe they were having a party. Too bad he was too young for parties. It was his birthday after all.

The door of his cabin swung open and Mama came over to sit beside him. Baelfire hugged the sword, hiding the markings.

"Did you have a good birthday?" she asked, touching the wooden blade.

He smiled. "Yep."

"Dougal said you met a beggar today."

Baelfire hugged his sword tighter. "He was hungry. And his cloak was patched. He looked like a wizard."

Mama smiled. "You gave him your money, didn't you?"

Baelfire nodded. "Just a little."

"That was very nice of you."

"Mama? Why was he alone? Why wasn't his family with him?" He couldn't ask her what he really wanted to know. Not now. She might suspect that the beggar was Papa, and then she'd take his sword away.

Mama didn't answer right away. "Well, I don't know, Baelfire. Maybe he doesn't have any family."

"Why not?"

Mama sighed. "Maybe they got sick and died. Maybe he never had a family. Beggars can't find work, so they can't take care of a family."

"He can't take care of himself, either. That's why he was hungry?"

"Perhaps."

"I wanna help him, Mama."

"Oh, Baelfire. We can't help all the beggars in the world, not even just the ones in this city."

"I want to help this one." He looked up at Mama, trying his hardest to be cute and sad and pleading. It usually worked for the other things, like bedtime and treats.

"You did help this one. You gave him your birthday money so he can get something to eat. What else can you do for him?" Mama wasn't falling for his trick this time.

"He doesn't have to be alone. He can come with us."

The ship rocked on the waves, and Mama stood.

"No, he can't, Baelfire. A ship is no place for a cripple." She kissed him goodnight and shuttered the lamp, leaving just enough of its flickering glow so it wasn't completely dark.

After she left, Bae resumed tracing Papa's name on his sword. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he realized he never told Mama the beggar was a cripple. Mama knew it was Papa! He jumped out of his bunk and raced over to the little round window, climbing on top of a chest to see out.

The ship continued to rock with the waves, and the lights of Seatown were fading in the distance.

They had left Papa behind again!

Bae watched the lights until they disappeared, then climbed back into his bunk and fell asleep hugging Papa's wooden sword.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin managed to crawl over to where his staff had landed, then maneuvered to lay along the side wall of the tavern, out of the way of passerby. His ankle was fire, but the rest of him hurt as well. He was panting from the effort of moving, each breath shallow to avoid the painful tickle that waited on the edges. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, it was morning, and there was a stranger standing over him. He flinched away, but the wall at his back kept him from moving very far.

"Easy, there," the stranger said. "I just want my cloak back." He untied the one on his shoulders, letting the pitiful, patched cloak flutter to the ground next to Rumplestiltskin.

He didn't look much like the drunk he had stolen the cloak from last night, but he must not have paid too much attention to the man, because the patched cloak was definitely the one Rumplestiltskin left behind. This man was balding, wispy gray hair sticking out in all directions. He seemed kind enough, gentle expression, no visible weapons to retaliate with if Rumplestiltskin gave him what he wanted. He saw no reason not to trust the man's words.

Rumplestiltskin reached up to untie his cloak, but when he shifted to roll off of it, his injuries flared. He groaned, gasping as he rested his forehead on the cobblestones, his hand landing on the patched cloak and gripping it tightly until the pain passed.

The stranger shuffled forward and knelt beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Looks like whatever you wanted my cloak for didn't work out the way you wanted," he said.

Rumplestiltskin couldn't answer. It was hard to breathe without whimpering. It was hard to think without realizing that once again, Baelfire was likely out of reach. Even if the Jolly Roger was still in port, Jones wouldn't let Bae wander without an escort again. They wouldn't let Rumplestiltskin anywhere near him. Not that he was going anywhere like this.

He had failed.


	12. Benefactor

**Chapter 12**

**Benefactor**

"Let me help you," the stranger said.

_How?_ Rumplestiltskin wanted to ask. Even if he could manage to stand despite the pain, he was terrified to see the damage to his ankle. It felt like it had been broken all over again. What help was there for him?

He took a breath, slowly, carefully, gauging the intensity of the pain. Then he dared to sit up. The stranger's hands guided him until he leaned against the wall. The pain was manageable except for his ankle. Even moving it as briefly as he had was enough to send him to the edge of consciousness. A feeble whine escaped him as the stranger touched the pain.

"It's okay," the stranger said. "You'll see. Let me help you."

Rumplestiltskin couldn't open his eyes, struggling to stay conscious. Somehow he managed to nod, and a fuzzy warmth enveloped his ankle, easing the pain. He opened his eyes. The stranger's hand was glowing with purple light. Rumplestiltskin was too terrified to flinch away. _Magic_.

"I have nothing to pay you with," he gasped. It still hurt to breathe, but his ankle was healing. He could almost feel the shattered bones shifting while the magic soothed the discomfort.

"I will find another way. I'll be your benefactor if you owe me a favor." The stranger finished with the ankle and looked up. "You can call me Grima."

Rumplestiltskin wiggled his foot, then pulled his leg in and stripped off his boot. The years-old injury was completely healed.

He stared at Grima, amazed. "Can you teach me to do that?" he asked.

"Perhaps in time. It takes a certain... aptitude."

Rumplestiltskin put his boot back on. "Rumple," he said. Grima looked at him. "My name. Rumple." He gestured to his chest. "Could you heal this too?" Grima narrowed his eyes. "I can't breathe."

"Oh," the other man said. He reached a hand forward, and it glowed with the same purple light. "My apologies."

Warmth washed over him, and he could breathe again without pain. He was still a little sore where Jones had kicked him, but bruises he could live with.

"Thank you," he said. He reached for his staff and stood, marveling at the lack of pain in his ankle. For the first time in seven years, he could walk without limping. Why, he could run in he wanted to!

"Care to tell me what got you into this mess?" Grima asked.

Rumplestiltskin looked down. The man kneeling in the alley watching him was a sorcerer. He owed him his life. More if the Jolly Roger hadn't left yet and they could get to the docks in time.

"I'll tell you while we move," he said, reaching down for the cloak he'd been sitting on. "There's something I need to see."

Grima stood, scooping up the patched cloak and holding it out to Rumplestiltskin. They swapped, and headed out of the alley. Rumplestiltskin would have liked to run, but he settled for a brisk walk.

"Three years ago, my wife left me and ran off with a pirate. Took my son with her. I found them again just yesterday. When I confronted them, well, you saw how well that turned out."

They came within sight of the docks. Rumplestiltskin scanned the ships, searching for the Jolly Roger.

"So you want my help getting him back?" asked Grima.

"No, no, no, no, no." It wasn't there. He spun, seeking the dock where he had seen the ship the night before. Another ship sat in its place. "They're gone!" He struck a pile of crates with his staff. That marauding cur deserved to die. Slowly. Painfully. For leaving him broken in an alley to die. And stealing his son. The pirate. Had to. Die!

"Get a hold of yourself, man!"

His staff was stuck. Rumplestiltskin blinked, finding tears in his eyes. Grima was in front of him, holding the staff in place. The pile of crates was askew. Some were cracked, others broken.

"We will find another way," Grima said.

"How?" Rumplestiltskin snapped. "They could be anywhere. Hours away. How exactly do you plan on helping me?"

Grima didn't back down, still calm as ever. "By calling on that favor you owe me."

Rumplestiltskin blinked. "What?"

"There's a magical artifact I need you to retrieve. It can amplify my powers enough to get your son back."

"Tell me." If this was the only way to get Bae back, he'd do anything.

"It's a family heirloom of sorts, and they've used that against me. I can't retrieve it myself, but you could. The Duke of the Frontlands has it hidden in his castle. All you would need is a bit of distraction to get inside."

"What am I to look for?"

"A dagger. A kris blade with my great-grandfather's name engraved on it."


	13. Fire and Blood

**Chapter 13**

**Fire and Blood**

It didn't take much to get inside the castle. A fire set on the perimeter near the stables caused enough chaos for Rumplestiltskin to slip through a servant door unnoticed. The instructions Grima had given him were simple. Find the tallest tower and look behind the tapestries in the room on the mid-level floor. How Grima could know where the dagger was when magic prevented him from even approaching the castle grounds baffled Rumplestiltskin. But this was for Bae as much as for Grima, so he had no choice but to trust that he was right. Days of walking and planning couldn't go to waste.

Unfortunately, the tallest tower was about to catch fire. Embers from the stables fire glowed like fireflies as the night breeze carried them to the pile of straw someone had dropped next to the tower. Men ran towards the fire, and women and children ran away, but no one paid attention to the straw that was now beginning to smoke. Or to the man with a fake limp and a walking stick who entered the tower.

No one seemed to be inside, so Rumplestiltskin dropped the act and climbed the winding stairs without the aid of his staff. At the third level, he stepped through a doorway into an empty room. Tapestries hung on the walls, but no other furnishings were left to show what this room was once used for. The only light came from the windows looking out on the fire below. It seemed a rather unlikely place to hide a magical dagger. Then again, it was unlikely that the one the dagger was meant to be hidden from would know exactly where to find it.

One tapestry seemed to glow around the edges. Rumplestiltskin pushed it aside with his staff. There was a window behind this one, glowing orange with the light of the flames below. In the center of the window was the dagger, mounted on a plaque. Rumplestiltskin plucked the dagger from its rest and held it up to the light. There it was. The name _Zoso_ inscribed on the wavy blade.

He tucked the dagger into his belt and turned to go. A man stood in the doorway.

"Who's there?" the man demanded. The light from the windows illuminated his face and the fine cut of his clothes, but Rumplestiltskin stood in shadow, backed by the tapestry so even his outline was obscured. "Show yourself."

Rumplestiltskin stayed silent, watching to see what the man would do.

"Whoever you are, you have no business being in here. Get down there with the others and help." The man stalked closer, but in a predatory arc, changing the angle to get a better look at the intruder. "He sent you, didn't he?"

Rumplestiltskin didn't know what to do. By circling around, the man, quite possibly the duke, was leaving the doorway wide open. His first instinct was to run, but he didn't trust that he could outrun the duke. Even if he escaped the room, he wouldn't likely escape the castle grounds. The way the duke moved with his hand on his sword and his eyes fixed in Rumplestiltskin's direction, he expected him to flee, and was ready to pounce.

When Rumplestiltskin didn't move, the duke stopped. "Who are you?" he asked again.

Was that a hint of fear in his voice? Could the duke actually be afraid of the coward? What a novel thought. Rumplestiltskin laughed. It came out a strained, high-pitched giggle, but the duke took a step back, feeding Rumple's boldness all the more. He was a cornered animal facing down a skilled predator. He may as well press this new-found advantage as far as he could.

"Who I am doesn't matter," he said, his voice high with fear, not sounding like himself at all. He withdrew the dagger from his belt and pretended to be brave. "I am nothing. But I got what I came for, dearie. And that is something."

He forced himself to walk casually towards the doorway. The exposed blade in one hand glinting in the firelight, his staff balanced in his other hand, parallel to the ground and swinging with each step.

The scrape of the duke drawing his sword was all the warning Rumplestiltskin needed. He spun, dropping low and sweeping his staff out to trip the duke as he came at him. He may not have fought any ogres, but he did have at least some training. Particularly in defense.

In the patchy light, the duke couldn't see well enough to dodge. He stumbled and nearly fell on Rumplestiltskin. The hand holding the dagger rose to shield him from the falling weight. For a moment, Rumple felt that weight on his arm, but then the duke fell to the side, his sword clattering to the floor, and Rumplestiltskin lost his grip on the dagger.

Startled, he looked up. The duke lay on his back, the hilt of the dagger protruding from his chest. The man groaned, his hands fluttering about the wound before grasping the dagger. Rumplestiltskin stared. _No, no, don't._ But he did. The dying duke pulled the bloody dagger from his chest with trembling hands, and it fell to the floor. He gasped and moaned and finally lay still while Rumplestiltskin knelt there, frozen while the world burned.


	14. The Nightmare Begins

**Chapter 14**

**The Nightmare Begins**

Baelfire didn't speak to his Mama or Killian for a week. And he didn't go anywhere without his wooden sword tucked into his belt, plain side facing out so they wouldn't see _Rumple_ carved on the blade. He hoped his father was okay, but he was afraid of what might have happened when he realized Bae wasn't coming back.

_I will be waiting for you. Always._

His father loved him. He loved him enough to abandon everything he had and live like a beggar just for the chance to see Bae again. He loved him enough to promise he wouldn't take Bae away from Mama, even when that meant letting him go and maybe never seeing him again.

But Mama had stolen him away from Papa twice now. She lied and said he didn't love them, and called him a coward. She hated Papa. And Bae hated Mama for knowing he had met his father on his birthday and sneaking away in the middle of the night when she knew Papa needed help. And Bae hated Killian for helping her.

At first Bae's silence worried Mama, but once she was sure he wasn't sick and was still eating most of his food, the worry left her voice. After a couple of days though, she started to get snappy. Killian, however, accepted his punishment for what it was, and even did his best to calm Mama down when she got mad at Bae for his stubbornness.

On the seventh day, Bae whispered a message to one of the crew, who went and told Mama and Killian. Bae would talk again if they turned around and went back to Seatown. They talked and argued about it all day, but then finally turned the ship around. Bae went to bed happy, but determined to wait until they actually let him see Papa before he spoke to them again.

That night, a terrible storm struck. Bae huddled in his bunk, holding tight to whatever he could while the ship rocked. Everyone else was up top trying to keep the ship afloat. He could hear shouting in between the thunder and crashing waves. When water trickled into the room from the hall, Bae whimpered and held his wooden sword tight, wishing he was with Papa. They had been caught in storms before, but nothing this bad. As water continued to flow across the floor, Bae closed his eyes and prayed for the storm to go away.

A sudden thump, and everything stilled. Bae opened his eyes. The room was tilted, all the water on the floor gathered by the door, and the little round window pointed up to... treetops? Bae scrambled over to the window. There _were_ trees out there, and no sign of rain. He could even make out a few stars in the night sky. They must have run aground, but Bae didn't remember being that close to land when he went to sleep. He tucked his wooden sword into his belt and splashed through the water to the door. The hall held even more water, and Bae had to swim more than walk to the stairs.

It was quiet up on the deck. All he could hear were the wooden planks creaking beneath his soggy footsteps. He didn't see any of the crew.

"Mama?" he called, his voice small. "Killian?" No response. "Anyone?"

He looked around. There was a faint glow in the distance. A town? The trees he had seen from his window towered on both sides, and as far as he could tell in the dark, stretched on forever. A river, then. But how was that possible? A storm couldn't have carried them this far inland and then just disappear. Could it?

He walked along the tilted deck towards the wheel. The storm had extinguished all the lanterns, so he had to feel his way. Here and there, shadowy lumps lay sprawled across the deck. Debris and rope knocked loose by the storm, he guessed. He kept to the railing so he wouldn't trip.

"Mama?" he called again, and thought he heard someone moving up on the raised deck, by the wheel. "Mama!" He raced forward, scrambling up the stairs to get to her.

Before he cleared the last step, the lantern at the top of the railing flickered to life with a soft whisper. All the other lanterns followed one by one, as though lit by a little fire fairy zipping around the ship. It was beautiful, until Bae realized the dark, shadowy lumps he had seen were the lifeless bodies of the crew. All dead. He yelped and fell back to sit on the stairs, then turned and scrambled to the top.

The last lantern to light was at the rear of the ship. A man stood there, hooded and cloaked, a gloved hand around Mama's neck.

"No! Don't hurt her!" he cried, darting forward only to trip over something and fall to the deck. He looked back, but wished he hadn't.

Killian lay there, one arm trapped beneath Bae's feet. His gaping mouth overflowed with water that continued to bubble up from some impossible place inside, but he never moved. His eyes stared up into nothing, and water pooled around him from his still-dripping clothes.

Bae trembled, unable to do more than back away from the body. He looked up at Mama struggling with the man's hand clamped around her throat, and knew he'd be next.

He drew his wooden sword out of his belt and charged, hitting the arm hurting Mama as hard as he could. The man growled and let go only to fling Bae away without touching him. The hand swept towards him, and Bae flew backwards to crash against the ship's wheel.

"No!" Mama screamed, collapsing to her knees. "Run, Baelfire!"

The man turned to look at him as Bae picked himself up off the deck. The wooden sword lay between them, _Rumple_ illuminated by light and shadow. Bae reached for it, but the man's boot came down, pinning it to the deck. Bae shrank back and looked up.

Inside the hood, the man's skin was glittery gold, his eyes inhuman. _The Dark One._ Bae had heard stories. He was the most feared sorcerer in the Frontlands. They were going to die, and Papa would never know what happened. He'd never see Papa again.

"Baelfire!" Mama shouted, motioning for him to flee. She opened her mouth to say more, but the Dark One raised a hand without taking his eyes off Bae. The hand twisted, and Mama fell to the deck, her neck bent at a terrible angle.

Baelfire screamed.


	15. Darkness and Death

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. My Beta was out of town. This chapter seemed so much longer when I wrote it. Oh well. Enjoy! Only one more chapter left.**

**Chapter 15**

**Darkness and Death**

The first crash of a burning tapestry falling to the floor startled Rumplestiltskin out of his stupor. He had killed a man. He killed the _duke_. And the room was on fire.

He reached out and picked up the bloody dagger from where it had fallen, wiping it clean on the hem of his patched cloak. Standing on unsteady legs, he limped out of the room leaning on his staff.

The stairwell was thick with smoke, making it hard to see and harder to breathe. He tucked the dagger in his belt and wrapped his cloak around him to shield himself and filter the air. Once outside, he collapsed on the ground coughing on smoke and relishing the cool night air. When he could breathe again, he pulled himself to his feet and looked around. The castle was abandoned, the fire continuing to spread. He only hoped no one was trapped. He didn't want anyone else to die because of him.

He limped along, more out of habit and shock than need, replaying the duke's death in his mind. The moment a defensive block became a murder stab. Could he have avoided it? Could he have escaped if he simply ran? If he hadn't been holding the dagger, if it had been safely tucked in his belt, could he have escaped after tripping the duke?

He stopped to wash his face in the river. The cool water did little to calm his thoughts. Downstream, pinpricks of firelight flickered to life in a pattern that ruled out fireflies, or fairies. A ship, leaning on the riverbank, its masts tangled in the trees. Rumplestiltskin stood. There was something unnatural about it, as if it was a ghost ship in a child's nightmare. He almost thought he heard screams.

He shook his head and started forward. Of course the captain would be shouting orders at his crew. They'd beached his ship. It wasn't until he was drawing level with the prow that the shouting became a distinct, terrified scream. It startled him into looking up at the ship, and he froze. The Jolly Roger.

_Bae._

He was running before he even completed the thought, dropping his staff as his hands reached for dangling ropes to pull himself up to the deck. He hauled himself over the railing and landed on a dead crew member. He stumbled away from the body and headed for the back of the ship, his son's screams still ripping through the night.

"Bae!" he shouted as he ran towards the stairs to the upper deck. The screams stopped. "Bae!"

He darted up the steps. Jones and Milah lay dead on the deck, and between them knelt Bae. The boy was trembling, tears in his eyes.

"Papa," he said, his voice small. "I'm afraid."

Rumplestiltskin gathered him into his arms. "Don't you worry, son. Everything's gonna be fine."

"I do doubt that," a voice behind him said, low and menacing.

Bae sniffled and buried his face in Rumplestiltskin's chest. The man stood next to the ship's wheel, his face hidden in the shadows of his hood. Even though Rumplestiltskin couldn't see his eyes, it felt as if he was staring into his soul, straight to the black stain of murder on his heart. No, nothing would ever be right again, save holding Bae in his arms.

"Have you ever wondered, is he really your child at all? Look how he mourns those who stole him from you."

"Please, don't speak of my boy like that," Rumplestiltskin whispered, hugging Bae tighter. He was his son. Of course he was. Milah wouldn't have stayed as long as she had if Bae belonged to another man.

The stranger continued his calm assault as if Rumplestiltskin hadn't spoken. "What right do you have to call him son when you can't even protect him from his nightmares?"

Dark smoke swirled around Bae, and Rumple's arms were suddenly empty. He reappeared standing with the stranger's gloved hand on his shoulder.

"No," Rumplestiltskin gasped. He stood, drawing the dagger and wishing for something more effective against magic. Against the Dark One. Where was Grima when he needed him?

"You can't even protect him from me."

Rumplestiltskin raised the dagger, pointing it at the Dark One. "Don't touch him."

The demon laughed and stepped forward, allowing Bae to back away until he bumped into the ship's wheel.

"How many did you kill to get that blade?" the Dark One pressed. He continued to stalk closer. "Who will protect the boy from you? What a poor bargain that would be, to lay down your soul to gain a useless knife."

He was right in front of him now, and it took everything Rumplestiltskin had not to back away. There were many stories of the Dark One terrorizing people, but none about trying to kill him. If anything could, it'd be a magical dagger, right? He could hear Bae calling him and begging the Dark One not to kill him. Whatever the demon wanted, and he suspected it was the dagger now that he'd recognized it, they wouldn't leave here alive. He was toying with them, and Rumplestiltskin refused to play.

He took a deep breath and pushed his fear aside, letting anger take its place. He matched the reptilian glare with one of his own. "Well, I wouldn't say it was useless. Still cuts through flesh rather nicely." He thrust the dagger into the Dark One's chest, right through the heart. _Forgive me, Bae._

They fell to the deck, the Dark One landing on his back with Rumplestiltskin still gripping the dagger buried in his chest. The glittery gold texture of his face began to dissolve, melting into normal flesh. He laughed again, through the pain.

"It's you," Rumplestiltskin gasped. "You're Grima."

"Looks like you made a deal you didn't understand," Grima chuckled. "I don't think you're gonna do that again."

_He's mad. Laughing while dying? Unless..._ "You wanted me to kill you?"

Grima's breath was becoming labored. "My life was such a burden. You'll see. Magic always comes with a price, and now it's yours to pay." His laugh this time came out as a choking cough.

_My price? What do you mean, my price?_ The world had stopped making sense the moment he stole the dagger, and now two men were dead by his hand.

"Why me?" he whispered. "Why me?"

The response came in between Grima's dying gasps. "I know how to recognize a desperate soul."

Rumplestiltskin watched him take his last breath, then felt a tingling in his hand. The shadows played tricks with his mind, making him imagine glittery gold skin creeping across his hand. He tried to jerk away from the dagger, but his fingers wouldn't unclench, and the dagger pulled free from the body.

Visible beneath the layer of fresh blood, _Rumplestiltskin_ had taken the place of _Zoso_ on the blade. And his skin _was_ turning gold.

_No. No, no, no, no, no!_

The dagger finally fell from his grip, landing on the deck with an ominous thunk.

"Papa?"

Rumplestiltskin couldn't stop trembling as he watched the transformation progress. The enormity of the situation threatened to drown him. He'd killed the Dark One only to _become_ the Dark One. He didn't want this. He didn't want any of this!

Bae's little arms wrapped around his neck in a hug. His sobs cut through the panic, and Rumplestiltskin relaxed, rubbing his son's back.

"It'll be alright, son," he murmured. "We'll find a way."

They had to.


End file.
